


Silence and Memory

by matchka



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Brainstorm's canonical fetish for nerdy microscopes, Gen, M/M, delving briefly into the past in ways that canon will almost certainly prove wrong, faction-blind robot friendships, post-MTMTE 38, the importance of remembering the ones you love, what measure is a decepticon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 05:52:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3680376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matchka/pseuds/matchka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a lot of time to think when you're locked in the brig. Brainstorm and Chromedome talking about the past, about things forgotten and the importance of remembering.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silence and Memory

 

"You never told me about him."

Brainstorm looks up. A yellow visor glows in the dim light of the brig, the optics behind them just visible. It's been a while since anyone visited. Brainstorm shifts, easing himself upright - he's been slumped, staring at his own feet for as long as he can remember. His cables creak as he moves.

"Quark?" Brainstorm’s vocaliser is staticky with disuse. Doesn't matter. He'll have an awful lot of talking to do soon enough. "I could've sworn you knew him. He was New Institute too, for a while."

"I knew him, a little," Chromedome says. "Only by sight. I don't think we ever exchanged so much as a word. What I mean to say is, you never told me about you and him."

"Sit down," Brainstorm says, gesturing to the chair on Chromedome's side of the bars. "You're making me nervous."

He obliges, carefully folding his long limbs as he sits. Now they are of a height, and if Brainstorm doesn't think too hard about the purplish glow of the bars between them he can almost pretend this is like old times - the scientists and medics, sat in an untidy cluster at some bar or another, exchanging idle talk about anything but work. He and Chromedome, quite drunk, leaning on one another so neither would fall over. Chromedome, melancholy without knowing why, and Brainstorm, knowing everything but going along with the charade, because it was easier that way. Because war was cruel, and his friend was hurting, and back then you did what you could to get by.

"I told you, once," Brainstorm says, examining the thin seam in his midsection where Ratchet patched him up. "Not long after he left the Insitute. I thought about following him. He'd never once behaved towards me like anything other than a colleague, but...well, you know what it's like, don't you? Feeling for someone like that? Logic doesn't enter into it. So there I was, seriously considering throwing away my career to chase Quark halfway across Cybertron in the hope that he might someday feel that same way back. And it was Mach who talked me out of it. Said our paths would likely cross again someday." He pauses, flexing the cables in his neck. "He was a big believer in fate and predestination and all that kind of stuff. Used to drive the scientists crazy."

There's a long, slightly awkward pause. How many conversations - heartfelt, idle, everything inbetween - have become collateral damage in Chromedome's rewriting of his own history? How many empty spaces are there in his recollection of their friendship? Chromedome's silence says everything.

"Anyway," Brainstorm says, quieter now. His optics ache from squinting. "He's gone, now. It's not important anymore."

"I wish I could remember him," Chromedome says. Brainstorm can't see his face but he knows him well enough to sense the guilt written into the slump of his shoulders.

"I wish you could too. You'd have liked him."

"Would I?"

"Probably not, no."

Chromedome gives a dry little laugh. "I hated you," he says, staring down at his hands, at the bright glint of needletips in the purple light. "For weeks afterwards. Months, even. Everything reminded me of him. What I'd lost. And I'd look at my hands and I knew I'd never be able to do it. Not after what you said. Not after what you gave me." He looks up at Brainstorm, mask impassive. "So I hated you. I told myself it was your fault that it hurt as much as it did."

"Hated, past tense," Brainstorm says. "What changed?"

"I realised you were right."

Brainstom leans back, resting the base of his helm against the wall. "I'm not going to pretend I never thought about asking you to help," he says. "Because I did. Only once or twice, and only for a moment, but I did. And I'm glad I never asked, because you don't remember Quark, and I guess most of the people who would've remembered him are dead now. But I remember him. Someone ought to." He folds his arms across his chestplate, peering through dimmed optics out through the bars. "Forgive me for all the mushy talk," he says. "This place does funny things to your head. It's all the silence, I think."

"I'm sorry it didn't work," Chromedome says. His voice is barely a murmur, a vibration of sound in the dark.

"It did, kinda." Brainstorm shuts his optics off entirely. The resultant blackness is blissful, like staring out into the depths of space and seeing only oblivion. Seeing nothing at all. "I mean, I got to see him again. He was there. Close enough that I could’ve touched him, if I wanted to." He shakes his head. "Besides, I _did_ sorta invent time travel. I guess that's an achievement. And you're happy. That's good too. Different sort of good, but...good all the same."

"Thank you," Chromedome says, sincere. "For everything."

Footsteps echo in the quiet, a heavy tread. He recognises the sound of Peceptor clearing his vocaliser, the hiss of wheels against tile as Chromedome gets back to his feet. There's a long, empty moment in which not a word is spoken, though Brainstorm suspects there's some kind of silent exchange going on beyond his shut-off optics. And he thinks perhaps Chromedome has gone - always light on his feet, a hangover from his cop days - but he hears the barely-perceptible buzz of the bars heighten in pitch as someone's magnetic field draws closer.

"Even if you are a Decepticon," Chromedome says, "you were my friend first."

And then silence again. He can feel Perceptor, observing without talking, the faint burn of his gaze comforting. And nothing else. Nothing but silence and memory, and the sense of someone beside him, not so far away. Brainstorm thinks he could stay like this for a long time. He thinks maybe he will.

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't sure about sharing this since there's a very strong likelihood that all of this will be proven wrong by the time MTMTE 39 comes out (Wednesday is nearly here!) but I thought I'd post it anyway. I guess it's fun to compare and contrast.
> 
> I don't know whether or not Quark actually ever worked for the New Institute, but as far as I can see there's nothing in canon to contradict the possibility...not yet, anyway!


End file.
